


Inevitability

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: All Romantic Participants are Adults, Crystal Bleeding Discussed, Fear of Non-Con/Rape, Imprisonment, Long-Term Torture, M/M, Multi, No Non-Con In This Story, No underage, Past Mind Rape Referenced, Rats Gnawing on Living Flesh, Seduction of Light Obi-Wan, Sith Anakin, Sith Qui-Gon, cliffhanger ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-02-24 14:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13215657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Qui-Gon lived and raised Anakin. Obi-Wan is about to learn that raising involved things he didn't realize. Things that will break his heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year's Eve, all. Have a story that royally amused me while I was writing it. Which doesn't mean it's safe. My sense of humor is... different. You may not find the rats as endearing as Obi-Wan and I did. If partway in you find you need to skip the rats (which I would understand, though I'm rather proud of them), you can find the first set of asterisks, and continue from there. Things might be a little confusing that way, but you're smart. You'll figure out what's happening.
> 
> I marked this one explicit in case story ideas happen for a continuation. This one sat in the "future multiple-chapter stories" for far too long before I realized ideas weren't coming and I might as well release it. If you guys have ideas/prompts/brain sparkle traps, and would like to see this continue, by all means coax the brain sparkles out of their stubborn hideyholes. I would like to continue this one.
> 
> Just keep in mind I hope for a different tone for this than my Vaderwan works. These two love Obi-Wan and want him to love them freely in return. Not force him.

 

Most of Obi-Wan's weight hung from his wrists, the shackles carved deep in his flesh.

He didn't know how long he'd been here, knives and whips cutting into his body, but he knew how much longer it would last.

_Until the end._

No one knew where to look for him.

They would search, but never find his body.

Only one thing hadn't been taken away from him here: his choice.

_I would rather die a Jedi than live Fallen._

His captors were slowly honoring that choice.

It was mostly the one called Ventress; enthusiastic and easily angered, but tireless in her cruelties.

Once...

Once it had been the master instead.

Obi-Wan shuddered at the memory of the oily presence slipping inside his mind to touch whatever it pleased. He hadn't seen Sidious in person, but he'd  _felt_ him.

That touch left him feeling foul and violated for days.

Now he hung here, waiting for Ventress to return to break a few more bones or sear her saber into his skin as if it were a brand and she claiming him as her trophy kill.

Or perhaps it would be Dooku, here to bribe him with water or a promised end to his suffering if he would just swear himself to the dark.

Obi-Wan couldn't imagine how horrifying having someone so trusted, so  _loved_ as your master give in to the darkness. To see your parent lay waste to civilizations and histories and futures, leaving orphaned children to sob in the streets and broken bodies to struggle for what little joy their shattered lives might be able to scrape together in the days ahead. Some would never move again, confined to the mercies of those who tended them. Others lost limbs, friends, family—

Many would never have an easy night's sleep again, starting at every shadow or aching from long-healed wounds.

Obi-Wan grieved for Qui-Gon.  _How brokenhearted he must be._

And if he ever found out it was Dooku who had tortured and murdered Obi-Wan...

_May Anakin be spared to you, my master. May the Force not take all from you in one cruel strike._

Obi-Wan knew what it was to lose. He'd lost childhood friends to the Sith and it was a Sith who had murdered Satine. Zigoola had nearly destroyed his mind and body, simply for the crime of choosing to use the Force only to help instead of harm.

Korriban, though...

He didn't know for certain that this was the planet, and yet he  _did._

The whispers felt horribly familiar— like Zigoola, but  _older._

They didn't attack him. They had not the frantic need to drive him mad  _soon,_ no.

These waited. Waited.

Waited.

As of now, his greatest hope was that when his body finally gave out, he would not be within the walls of any of these Temples.

_Please. When I die, let me become one with the Force. Don't trap me here forever,_ please—

But the Force never answered.

The skitter of toenails against stone dragged a near-silent moan from his lips.

The starved, massive rats had arrived to lick the blood from his skin, to take bites from his flesh if they felt particularly hungry.

_Night must be falling outside again._

Like clockwork, the rats.

Obi-Wan tried to lift one foot, balanced precariously on the toes of the other, grabbing the chains that held him upright to try to take some of the weight from his wrists—

He picked a rodent and tried to kick it—

But starved to an emaciation that almost equaled that of the desperate rats, Obi-Wan found the gesture did little more than nudge it back a bit before it scampered forward again.

Obi-Wan wanted to feel enmity towards the rodents that helped make his existence hell, but pity ruled uppermost.

Creatures so famished that they gnawed on their own bones to try to ease the pain, creatures driven mad by endless whisperings of long-dead Sith and the screams of the Jedi who had been sacrificed here thousands of years ago, creatures whose skin crawled with the maggots of k'lor'slugs, unable to escape the devouring parasites or the agony they inflicted while marching through muscle and organs—

He found it difficult to blame them for what they did to him.

Difficult to begrudge them the meager easing of one of their pains at his expense.

He hung silent, watching as a mother bit his foot, stepping aside to allow her three surviving children to lap at the blood that welled from the wound. She crouched, refusing to partake.

Small, dark eyes rose to meet Obi-Wan's. In them he could read hunger.

He could see her ribcage standing out, see the depredations of the maggots.

_Not long for this world._

Her refusal to take what her children needed to survive was the closest thing to light Obi-Wan had seen in what felt like a lifetime.

Tiny, swiftly-dying sparks of Light in the night like firegnats, beautiful but momentary.

Obi-Wan reached out to them, desperate for one final caress from the Force before he died.

The door grated open, spilling in physical light that hurt Obi-Wan's eyes.

Too desperate, the rats refused to flee, though he could sense their terror.

A figure stepped into the room, the light behind him—

It was a silhouette Obi-Wan knew.

“Master,” he choked.

The Force flung rat bodies against the walls, breaking them and letting them drop to die of organ damage and internal bleeding.

“ _No!_ ” Obi-Wan shrieked, quivering in anguish.

The assault paused—

“Not the little ones,” he begged, looking down at where they cowered, the mother crouching over them, hissing at the intruder, frozen in terror not for herself, but her young. “They haven't done anything  _wrong._ ”

_They're just like me, only they don't have enough brainpower to have choice left to them._

_They cannot choose to die with dignity. All they can do is_ everything  _possible to survive._

Qui-Gon moved closer, and Obi-Wan cringed when his heavy boot kicked the mother, scattering the little family for the shadows.

_I'm sorry,_ Obi-Wan pleaded to them.

They had nowhere to go. If she tried to take her children out of this hell to where they could see the stars, the k'lor'slugs' massive cousins would consume them whole.

_But perhaps risking that is better than staying._ He tried to send an image to her, of the Temple's entrance, of the  _sky—_

_At least breathe untainted air before the end._

He doubted they could hear him. His Force voice had gone small and broken as his body was destroyed.

Qui-Gon ignited a saber to cut the chains— the crystal screamed louder than Obi-Wan's own soul.

He wanted to reach out to it, to offer comfort and solace.

Instead, a tear slipped down his nose.

_I'm sorry for what has been done to you,_ he thought to the crystal that had been forced to bond with a presence it had not chosen. A presence anathema to it.

The agonized weeping of this kyber was not familiar. Not one of Ventress', then, or Dooku's.  _Sidious?_

If  _that_ was the case, Qui-Gon couldn't afford to try to haul  _his_ broken body out—

“Go,” Obi-Wan whispered. “ _Run._ No time. Leave me please, just  _escape—_ ”

Qui-Gon's arm wrapped around his body, kept him from collapsing bonelessly to the floor when the chains parted.

“Don't let the Sith take you from me,” Obi-Wan begged. “They've already taken everything else— not you too— you're all I have left—”

Qui-Gon shushed him, lifting him a gentle bridal carry.

The pain from broken bones, from wounds—

He may have screamed.

He definitely passed out.

 

* * *

 

“Hey. Hey— Master! He's waking up.”

How Obi-Wan wished that were  _not_ the case. The pain was coming back, aching through every limb, every inch of battered skin—

He squinted his eyes open and found Anakin smiling down at him. “Welcome back.”

“How—”

“Qui-Gon and I came to break you out. And  _Force,_ Obi-Wan, we almost didn't get there in time.” His expression turned grim and worried.

Given the way Obi-Wan  _felt_ right now, he wasn't sure they  _had_ gotten there in time. “Help me sit up. Please?”  
“No, no.” His master's voice. Obi-Wan nearly sobbed in relief even as his eyes lost focus and refused to function. He could vaguely see the outline of Qui-Gon's beautiful hair, feel calloused fingers caress his cheek— “You need to rest, my Obi-Wan.”

Tears slipped from Obi-Wan's nonfunctioning eyes. “Are you real?” he asked, his voice close to inaudible and breaking with despair and hope alike.

Strong arms gathered him close, rested his head against Qui-Gon's chest so Obi-Wan could feel the beat of his loyal heart against his ear. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, allowing sleep or a faint to claim him— he wasn't sure which, and definitely didn't care.

Qui-Gon had him.

That was as safe as he'd ever be.

 

* * *

 

They pampered him as they nursed him back to health. It felt both ridiculous and wonderful at the same time.

_Like I'm something infinitely precious._

He discovered he had to relearn how to walk, either Anakin's, or Qui-Gon's arm supporting him while he tried to make his feet work. He wasn't entirely sure they connected to his brain anymore.

“You should have seen him,” Qui-Gon muttered from his chair as he watched Anakin hold Obi-Wan up as the convalescent tried to take another faltering step, “begging me to spare the rats. And he thinks  _I_ adopt too many strays.”

“They hadn't done anything wrong,” Obi-Wan protested, testing his footing, not quite sure his knee would hold him. He decided to risk it.

Anakin scoffed. “They were  _eating you alive._ ”

“They couldn't help it, they were almost as miserable as me—”

The knee didn't hold.

Anakin, caught unawares, managed to turn it into a controlled fall for them both.

Obi-Wan lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, and decided he needed to rest just a bit.

Anakin lay beside him and huffed in disbelief. “Only you would be able to think of someone else before yourself when suffering that terribly.”

_Not true,_ Obi-Wan wanted to murmur, but he found he had not the strength.

 

* * *

 

The first time he felt uncomfortable was about a week into his convalescence, when Anakin's hand lingered on his cheek, the younger man's eyes staring deep into Obi-Wan's own, something...  _hungry_ in their depths.

Obi-Wan felt himself blush, experiencing absolute shock, and managed to pull away to stumble back to his room.

In the space of one heartbeat, Qui-Gon's safehouse felt too small.

Dear Force, Anakin was  _nineteen._ Obi-Wan was old enough to be his  _master._ Not by much, just barely, but  _close enough,_ dammit.

He sought out Qui-Gon, careful to ensure Anakin wasn't nearby.

“I have to go. I'm terribly sorry.”

Qui-Gon stared at him in baffled amazement. “ _Go_ ? You're not fully healed yet. Not by a long shot.”

“I'll complete it at the Temple. But I've been away too long already, and you certainly didn't build your safehouse for three, and I've imposed on your hospitality quite long enough—”

He was  _looking_ at him funny. Why was he looking at him funny? “What is really going on, Obi-Wan?”

“I'm not comfortable anymore.”

“What happened?” Qui-Gon demanded, looking both shocked and mortified. “Did Anakin do something?”

“What?  _No,_ it—”

“I saw you check the hall to see if he was near.”

“He didn't do anything wrong. I swear, Qui-Gon. It's just, I think— I think he fancies me. So clearly I've been too close for too long. He needs to get out there, spend time with people his own age—”

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. “Because romance between people of differing ages is such a crime when all involved are adults.”

“Because it's not  _healthy._ We're practically  _family._ ”

Qui-Gon did not reply.

Obi-Wan felt a chill run down his spine. “I mean, we  _are._ Brothers, and you our father.”

Why was Qui-Gon looking at him like that? What did that  _mean_ ? That...  _intense..._ as if he was debating with himself whether to speak up or not—

“Of course you are very dear to us, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon offered. “I'm sure Anakin would be mortified to realize he'd made you uncomfortable.”

Obi-Wan edged towards the door. “I'm afraid I've— have I been giving the wrong signals? You would have said something, wouldn't you, if I'd been flirting with Anakin? You wouldn't let me just keep bumbling on when you knew I have no intention of harming him? You  _remember_ how I'm not very good at judging what is friendly and what is more—”

“You've been perfect, Obi-Wan.”

That wasn't the response he'd been anticipating, and he felt his face heat up at the small smile that graced Qui-Gon's lips. “I don't understand. I really,  _really_ must go.”

“You have no idea what a beautiful creature you are, do you?” Qui-Gon mused, taking a step closer. “And masterful in the art of seduction because it makes people more likely to cooperate on your missions. The ultimate tease. For so many years not even realizing it was flirting, just that it was effective in getting the job done. Had no idea you left people expecting something more when that more never even crossed your mind.”

Obi-Wan felt trembling start in his hands. “I'm sorry. I never meant to harm Anakin. If I'm gone for a few months or a couple years, he should recover. I can't imagine it has progressed much farther than a light crush. Surely he'll find someone else if he's around more young people. I'll just slip out. What planet are we on? I'll catch a public conveyance to Coruscant—”

“We're not on a Republic-friendly planet, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon took another step closer.

For a reason he couldn't identify, it scared Obi-Wan, and he made another himself, backwards. “Then I'll catch a ride to a neutral planet and from there—”

“The battle droids will recognize you from the list of most wanted criminals. You'd have to fight, and you're in no condition for that just yet. Wait a little longer. Give it some time.”

“If I cannot find conveyance myself, perhaps you could drop me off on Coruscant, then return to Anakin. I know it would be an inconvenience, but I would greatly appreciate it—” Obi-Wan's eyes widened as Qui-Gon took another step closer, that terrible  _something_ more firmly in his eyes than before— “I no longer feel safe here.”

Qui-Gon closed the remaining distance between them as Obi-Wan tried the door and found it locked. He spun around just in time to have his back pressed to the door as Qui-Gon crowded in close. “You're not supposed to feel safe,” the larger man murmured with a gentle smile. “It's supposed to feeling exciting, out of your comfort zone, and just a little terrifying.” His hand reached up, caressing Obi-Wan's temple, down his cheek, his jawline, burying calloused fingers in his beard. “It's supposed to feel like fire and danger.”

Obi-Wan turned his head away. “I'm terribly sorry. There's clearly been a terrible mistake. I never meant to— I  _meant_ what I said about how I see the two of you, and I really,  _really_ want to go home—”

“This is home, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan ducked under his arm and sprang away. “I don't understand, Qui-Gon, and I'm—”

Dizzy, is what he was. Dizzy and drained of energy. He tried blinking to clear the haze before his eyes, but it didn't work, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to force them open again.

Next thing he knew, he was falling, and gentle hands caught him.

He woke up in his medical bed, Anakin sitting in a chair beside him, watching his face.

“You overdid,” the younger man announced, looking grave.

Obi-Wan blushed and turned his head away.

_How much of what I remember is distorted by my injuries? Or maybe I hallucinated all of it. The painkillers certainly are a doozy._

“It was not my intention to make you feel unwelcome.”

Obi-Wan's gaze snapped back to his, saw—

“Your  _eyes_ !” he wheezed, staring at the way they flickered yellow behind the blue—

“I feel very strongly about protecting you,” Anakin explained. “It's an intense enough instinct that it messes with the concealment spells.”

_Concealment spells?_ “What have you done? How could you  _do_ this to Qui-Gon, after what he suffered with Xanatos?  _Dooku_ ?”

“You think  _I_ led him into darkness? While that's flattering, I don't have that kind of power. Even Dooku didn't. Only Qui-Gon's own desires could lead him down that path.”

Obi-Wan found he couldn't quite breathe. “What are you  _talking_ about?”

“He wanted to live forever. The only light side path is a form of existence after death, but that's just in spirit form. Qui-Gon didn't want to leave behind a physical body. It's too enjoyable. So he hunted down the ancient dark side method of sustaining your body long after it would normally fall apart.”

Obi-Wan stared at him in horror. “You don't mean— you do not speak of— _Vitiate,_ the man both Jedi  _and_ Sith banded together to try to destroy?”

“I don't know who Vitiate is. We worked with a man named Valkorion.”

“Valkorion is  _dead,_ ” Obi-Wan hissed.

Anakin shrugged. “But the deal is that Sidious has been looking for the same thing, trying it in all the ways the texts theorize it might be possible, but not the method the guy who actually  _did_ it used. Sidious is sold on essence transfer, which the guy we talked to used to work around all the times he ended up killed through the ages. His method only works against  _age_ and that kind of thing. So with Qui-Gon knowing  _both_ now, Sidious won't enforce the Rule of Two until he can obtain the secret from our master, but Qui-Gon is not telling. Even with Dooku trying to guilt it out of him. Apparently, Dooku's forgotten how mean he was to Qui-Gon as his master, and assumes they should be on the best of terms. Anyway. That's why they had you.”

“ _What_ ?”

“They wanted to force Qui-Gon into spilling the secret. On the bright side, you didn't break, we got to you in time, and Qui-Gon still is the only one who knows. Well, and me. But I'm still working on it. I haven't actually  _done_ it.”

“Qui-Gon has  _done—_ ” the room seemed to spin. “Anakin, please tell me he did not repeat Nathema.”

Anakin did not reply.

“ _Tell me,_ ” Obi-Wan shrieked, sitting up and grabbing for his tunic. “By all that's holy—”

His head spun, and he found himself clinging to Anakin to keep from falling to the floor instead of to shake him—

“Easy,” Anakin crooned. “You're alright.”

“The crimson saber,” Obi-Wan choked. “It was  _his_ , wasn't it.”

“I don't know? Probably? I mean, he has one. We both do.”

How could Anakin sound so  _confused_ ?

How could his master  _do_ that to something so pure, so  _harmless,_ so  _kind,_ as a kyber crystal? What did it  _take,_ inside a person, to think that such cruelty against something that couldn't possibly fight back was  _allowable_ ? To take away its free will, force it into an intimacy with you even as it  _begged_ for that violation to stop—

To hear it  _screaming_ as it hung at your belt, broken sobs for  _years on end_ , and just  _not care—_ ?

Just for the pleasure of having a crystal that  _didn't want you_ bonded to do your will? Every time it was ignited, the bleeding of its soul was  _clear—_ the  _only_ way to make a kyber crystal shine red—

_Anakin has one too._ The admission of the young man so casual, so careless. As if he'd changed the color of his wardrobe.

As if he hadn't shattered a soul and shoved himself deep inside it, forcing it to please him without regard to anything but his desire to dominate it.

Obi-Wan fought to escape his arms—

Dear  _Force,_ if they thought it permissible to do that to the weakest of the weak, what would keep Anakin from doing it to  _Obi-Wan—_ ?

Panic clamped its teeth over his windpipe, crushing the breath from him.

He wasn't strong enough to fend Anakin off should the boy attempt to rape  _him_ too.

“Master!” Anakin called, depositing Obi-Wan back on the bed, apparently shocked by the scratches on his arms and cheek. “ _Force,_ Obi-Wan,  _fingernails_ ?  _Why_ ?”

Obi-Wan squirmed to the far side of the bed, curling up on himself and trying to sit up.

Qui-Gon raced into the room, eyes flickering with the same gold-blue-gold-blue— “What's wrong?”

“Obi-Wan's  _hurting_ me. Damn it, I'm going to end up with a black eye.” Anakin poked at his face with ginger fingers.

Qui-Gon looked baffled. “What did you do?”

“I tried to keep him from falling on his face on the  _floor_ !”

Qui-Gon sighed, staring down at Obi-Wan with open pity. “Padawan. We're not going to hurt you.”  
“Stay away,” Obi-Wan blurted, hands out in warning. “Don't touch me!”

“I think he's mad about our lightsabers,” Anakin offered.

Qui-Gon sat on the edge of the bed, voice soothing as he explained, “In order to tap in to the dark side enough to be able to achieve immortality, we had to learn how to focus the dark side. It was either corrupt crystals, or slaughter innocents. Finding crystals to turn red was an unfortunate necessity.”

“Rape or murder,” Obi-Wan choked out. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Obi-Wan, they're just rocks. The color of the beam of light they create doesn't mean anything. It's just a taste preference. How can red be an  _evil_ color when it's just a color like any other?” Qui-Gon gave him a gentle smile.

Obi-Wan trembled. “Would you call rape making love if you claimed to love the man you rape?”

“Is  _that_ what you fear?” Qui-Gon looked surprised. “We are willing to wait for you, Obi-Wan. I feel no need to force the inevitable.”

“What are you talking about?” Obi-Wan watched him, not  _about_ to relax his vigilance—

“You think I was unaware? You have wanted me since you were seventeen, Obi-Wan.”

And that...

That was true.

Obi-Wan clamped his mouth shut. With the two pairs of knowing eyes locked with his own, he feared that any form of protest would end up as little more than terrible, absolute confirmation.

Let his fear speak instead.

“You've managed to control your desire for me for the last eighteen years. How much longer do you think you can hold out? Especially now that you know you will not be met with ridicule or rejection?”

_Stop. Just, stop._

Anakin sent him a smile that was likely meant to be calming and safe. Its results were just the opposite. “And you have always been my angel.”

Obi-Wan found the idea of his own being the name breathed during teenage bouts of self stimulation to be... repelling at best.

_Find someone else, quickly, please. Thank you._

“Am I a prisoner?” he asked.

Both looked unsurprised by the question, and neither actually answered it.

“You are far too injured to travel,” Qui-Gon pointed out. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”

_I will keep them as long as I fripping need to in order to save my body and soul._

“I won't sleep if either of you are in the room.”

Anakin opened his mouth to protest, but Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan an calculating nod. “Alright.”  
“Master, he won't  _sleep._ He'll end up hurting himself again—”

“Come, Anakin.”

The two left.

“I'm locking the door,” Qui-Gon said, pressing the button before slipping out of the doorway as it shut. “See? So you don't have to get out of bed?”

Like. Hell.

Obi-Wan dragged himself off the bed, landed on the floor, somehow crawled to the door and tested it himself.

Genuinely locked.

_But I'll bet Qui-Gon has the override._

There was nothing he could barricade the door with.  _I have to figure... something else... out..._

He only made it halfway back to the bed before he passed out again.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for this chapter: Control over bodily fluid lost because of overwhelming pain.
> 
> Also: Someone requiring help for the most basic of needs: eating, moving, urinating. Yes, it's Obi-Wan who's having issues, and it's Qui-Gon who helps. Qui-Gon won't be creepy about it, but Obi-Wan will be miserable about the whole thing. He's in far too much pain to be truly wigged about it, he just needs help, and he'll accept it from anyone, just make-the-pain-stop.
> 
> But yes. He'll be practically helpless, requiring extensive care, and privacy is something Qui-Gon would try to protect, but there's only so much that can be done when Obi-Wan can't use his hands. At all.
> 
> I may have learned something about suspension injuries since writing the first chapter, and that led to brain sparkles, but I apologize for whatever continuity issues there are. If I ever go through to edit this again, I'll see what I can do, but it's about as low on my priority list as it can get.

 

Obi-Wan came to still on the floor, and everything  _ hurt. _

He'd been trying to use his hands too much, since...  _ since,  _ relying on painkillers and adrenaline, and now his body would punish him for it.

He'd been suspended from his wrists for long stretches of time while a captive,  _ too  _ long, and the joint of the wrist had been hopelessly stretched apart.

His hands were all but useless, and yet he'd managed to test a door button, had scratched Anakin's face.

He shuddered, curled into a fetal position, tried not to cry out.

Oh,  _ Force— _

A scream broke from his lips, the drug having worn out of his system and the adrenaline no longer there to buffer him. Oh gods, oh,  _ please— _

When the door slid open and hands lifted him to the med bed, injected in more of the painkiller, he experienced nothing but relief, he couldn't—

He tried to open his eyes, but the effort took so  _ much,  _ and it was like peering through rain, the watering of his eyes from the agony so thick, and—

A hand stroked the top of his head, soothing murmurs tried to calm him, to ease his suffering—

He would have accepted petting from  _ Dooku  _ right now, without being able to care or protest.

Every last thought in his mind was blotted out by one, all-invading truth.

_ I am in pain. _

There was room for nothing else.

 

* * *

 

The pain slowly gave way.

Obi-Wan knew, because _ thoughts  _ began to come back.

He lay on his back, lower arms cushioned on delicate pillows, and Qui-Gon stood leaning over him, stroking his hair.

Obi-Wan's nose was plugged, his eyes sore, his eyelashes sticking together.

He must have been losing tears from pain. A lot of them.

His throat felt hoarse too, as if he'd been screaming.

He'd been so careful to do nothing with his hands the last few days...

“Welcome back,” Qui-Gon murmured. “How bad is it?”

Obi-Wan couldn't speak.

He might not be unaware and shrieking and convulsing with the pain now, but it still overwhelmed nearly every sense, and  _ absolutely  _ every emotion.

“We think you must have tried to catch yourself, after you checked on the door last night. That you fell, put your hands out to catch yourself.”

Obi-Wan shuddered at the thought, but his body was too miserable for much more.

 

* * *

 

It was back to being fed again. Propped up, mind reeling from the agony of his hands being moved, gentle coaxing with a spoon and shockingly nice concoctions, though Obi-Wan only caught a hint of taste every once in a while, the pain blocking out most everything else.

Anakin, he thought Qui-Gon had explained at some point. Anakin was becoming quite the chef.

When Obi-Wan had to relieve himself, he tried to manage his own clothes, his own self, but his Force grasp was shot because of the pain, and when he tried to use just the tips of his fingers, he ended up sprawled on his back and blacking in and out from the agony.

It resulted in urine all over his clothes and the floor, it was miserable as hell, and Qui-Gon cleaned him up anyway, and given Obi-Wan's utter misery, he only felt vague humiliation, feeling his face turn crimson, but that was all he could give.

So next time he had to go, he let Qui-Gon support him, dust aside his clothing, and then straighten said clothes after.

It was better than the traumatic wetting himself experience.

He didn't know how long it had continued for. He knew it was approaching thirty-six hours. The exhaustion from being awake all that time, exhaustion from the agony, exhaustion from simply being unable to think....

Exhaustion from bouts of vomiting, triggered by the pain.

Which was unfair. His wrists had nothing to do with his stomach, it simply wasn't fair.

“I can place a sleep suggestion over you,” Qui-Gon murmured, those calloused fingers stroking his hair again, and the touch was grounding and Obi-Wan needed it, needed that one point in his body where something didn't hurt, where something felt good—

Oh, he shouldn't trust this man, this Sith, this—

He had to sleep.

Maybe he would die. Maybe they would kill him in his sleep.

He found he couldn't care, didn't have the effort it would require.

It was an odd thing, to think  _ I might not wake up,  _ and still agree to sleep anyway.

It was a sensation all its own.

“Please,” he rasped.  _ Oh, gods, please. Just a break, just a break... _

And then Qui-Gon's command weighed against his mind, an anchor that caught him and sank him into the depths, down, down...

Down...

Down.

 

* * *

 

When he awoke, he didn't dare move.

He didn't know if he felt better or not. If he moved, it sure as hell might come all rushing back. Certainly the nausea.

He had a pounding headache now, too. Probably from the intensity of the pain and his visceral reactions to it.

_ Will I ever hold a lightsaber again? _

It wasn't a thought he'd allowed himself to think before.

Just  _ how much  _ had he been damaged in his time on Korriban?

What if...

What if his hands were for all intents and purposes  _ crippled _ ?

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, tears stinging them. It felt so hopeless, he was supposed to be escaping, but he couldn't even  _ urinate  _ on his own, and oh gods it hurt so much, it hurt  _ forever _ , it—

“My poor padawan,” Qui-Gon murmured, pressing a cheek to the top of Obi-Wan's head, and that voice was strained, broken with grief and tears.

Obi-Wan hadn't heard it so traumatized before,  _ certainly  _ not on his behalf.

It horrified him. Qui-Gon was  _ crying.  _ For  _ him. _

He closed his eyes again, hoping for sleep, because he couldn't even begin to make sense of what he could hear right now.

Sleep complied, even if it was shallow, scarred with vivid dreams of rats and chains, and his wrists hurt just as much in the dreams— though for different reasons,  _ rats  _ were biting them— as they did when awake.

Pain in dreams left Obi-Wan emotionally exhausted when he awoke.

How in frip's name did that even  _ work,  _ anyway? To experience piercing, grinding, stabbing,  _ horrific  _ pain even in his dreams?

He dozed again after being helped to urinate.

This time reality seemed to be horrifyingly detailed razor wire caught around his wrists, cutting in even as he tried to free himself.

Please.

At some point...

It had to be enough?

 

* * *

 

It was in the hours of murky pain, his brain shot through with a haze that left no complicated thought possible, that Obi-Wan realized something.

_ Force... oh Force... _

_… Please..._

_...Frip...frip, oh gods..._

_...so tired..._

_...Please..._

_...Force..._

_I don't want to die like this._

The thought came welling up from deep inside, and Obi-Wan's lip curved in a tiny, mirthless smile in response.

Force damn it.

Getting away from the Sith would have been easier, if the parameters were different. But...

_ I want to live. _

Well, kark.

That made things more complicated, but Obi-Wan gave up trying to figure out just how  _ much  _ more complicated. Qui-Gon was offering to put him under again, and Obi-Wan craved silence, for just a while, just  _ some quiet  _ of the fire in his wrists.

So he accepted.

 

* * *

 

“I hate seeing him like this.” Anakin surveyed Obi-Wan, looking mournful and helpless.

Qui-Gon sighed, his finger still touching Obi-Wan's hair where he had gestured a sleep-suggestion over him. “So do I.”

“Will he ever get back his hands?”

_ I wish I knew. _ “The damage is extensive. The med droid refuses to speculate. We'll know more once he's recovered enough and been through physical therapy.”

“He...” Anakin swallowed, eyes going shiny with tears.

_I know._ _His saber-wielding days may be long over._

And the thought of it made Qui-Gon furious, but...

Right now, Obi-Wan needed him, and needed to not be  _ scared  _ of him. If the Force ended up full of churning rage, it would scare the kark out of a man who was currently utterly helpless, and that just wasn't fair to him.

Qui-Gon brushed his thumb against Obi-Wan's hair, heart breaking for him all over again.

“We have to earn his trust. This is going to be hell enough already,” Anakin pointed out. “Him being scared of his caretakers will only make it ten times worse.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “We'll have to do something drastic, and nonthreatening.”

“Like what?”

“Like give him our saber crystals to heal and cleanse.”

“ _ What _ ?” Anakin's face scrunched. “Sith without red lightsabers? You think I need  _ another  _ reason for Ventress to make fun of me?”

“ _ Ventress  _ left Obi-Wan suspended from his wrists long enough to near-destroy the joint that  _ has  _ to work for Obi-Wan to do  _ so much  _ of what he used to do. She may have irrevocably changed Obi-Wan's way of life, and heaped a lifetime of chronic pain on him as well. She'll have bigger things to worry about than harassing you when we cross paths with her again.”

Anakin sighed. “I... the red blade... it makes me feel powerful.”

“A forced crystal will do that.” Qui-Gon stared down at the injured man before them. “But you don't need to  _ feel  _ powerful to know that you  _ are  _ powerful, Anakin. Blue and green will not harm us; our eyes remain, and Obi-Wan needs this.”

 

* * *

 

The meds were working, and Obi-Wan found himself capable of opening his eyes, and sitting reclined, his arms bundled, braced, padded, and resting on platforms.

He felt exhausted, but had no interest in sleeping more.

He might...  _ actually  _ be hungry.

And, oh...

His hair was  _ awful.  _ He could feel the grease in it, and that was just uncivilized.

Qui-Gon returned, bearing a tray of something that smelled... really amazing. Obi-Wan's stomach gurgled, and Obi-Wan wanted to show a face of defiance, but  _ Force  _ that smelled good. The imperative from his injured body to  _ eat  _ was too strong.

Anakin followed the older Sith in, with a smaller tray.

On the tray lay two wounded kybers.

“After you eat,” Qui-Gon announced, voice quiet, “you can attempt healing them. If it doesn't work, we'll try again when you're stronger.”

Obi-Wan's eyes widened, searching both earnest faces. “ _ What _ ?”

“You are right; we did something awful to those crystals, to gain something in return. But there is no need for them to remain in pain, and it clearly matters a lot to you.”

Obi-Wan's expression pinched. He could  _ feel  _ it tightening. “What is the catch?”

“There isn't one. It's a gift, Obi-Wan.”

And all Obi-Wan could do was stare at the little precious souls so stained and whimpering on the tray, until Qui-Gon began to feed him, as tenderly as ever.

Obi-Wan could barely give thought to the food.

_ Some things  _ in this wretched, terrifying place, would at least escape the pain.

That felt good.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Want more? Help me find ideas. Happy New Year, darlings!


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